Of Mike and MON
by FrankLeroux
Summary: While Mike Ehrmantraut is on the run he meets up with a group of unique women. Hilarity, as they say, ensues. Rated M for swears, violence, maybe adult situations. Big ol' spoilers for both Breaking Bad and DLWMG.


_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here it is folks, the crossover that literally no one has been waiting for! Or maybe this just proves that I need clinical help. Chronologically this takes place after the events of Breaking Bad, so there will be BIG HONKING SPOILERS for all of Breaking Bad and Monster Musume/DLWMG. You have been warned. This is slightly AU from Breaking Bad, as will be obvious from the start._

 _Standard Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own the characters or events within, et cetera_

 _In terms of tone, I'm aiming for something lighter than BB and darker than Monster Musume/DLWMG. Rated M for swears and violence and possible 'adult situations' later on. There will be absolutely no pairing of Mike with any of the MON squad - he's almost old enough to be their grandddad, okay?_

* * *

Mike Ehrmantraut sat at the diner counter and nursed his coffee. He was dressed in a black shirt and blue jeans and had a plain beige ball cap covering his bald head. A perfectly nondescript outfit, just the way he liked it. The morning Nevada sun streamed through the windows at his back and gave the whole place a cheery air that did not match his mood. There was a TV up in one corner blathering some local news, but its sound was just a haze of noise to him until a certain name made him perk up and pay attention. The news anchor was the typical idiot with gleaming teeth and perfectly coiffed hair, all wrapped up in a snazzy suit.

"In late breaking news, the notorious drug kingpin Walter White is dead. White, known in the criminal underworld by the alias of 'Heisenberg', was apparently killed in a shootout with a Neo-Nazi gang in a compound near Albuquerque, New Mexico. The death puts an end to a nationwide manhunt that has lasted for nine months and which started with the death of DEA Agents Henry 'Hank' Schrader and Steven 'Gomie' Gomez..."

Mike listened with no expression on his face. There was no mention of Jesse in the report, of course. It was typical TV bullshit, all of the lurid details but none of the facts that mattered. He looked down into his coffee mug and tried not to think too hard about the Pinkman kid. Somehow he'd known that Jesse was in a bad spot, but he had been on the run himself and in no position to find out more. He could only hope that Jesse had somehow gotten clear of the whole mess. But it was far more likely that the kid was dead.

Just like he had almost died by that little creek in New Mexico. It could have gone the other way so easily. Mike had been rattled after having to abandon his family at the park. When Walter had finally handed him his 'bug-out' bag, it would have been so easy for him to not notice that it was lighter it should have been. But Mike had noticed. That extra sixth sense which had served him so well kicked in, and he knew that the bag had been light by the weight of one pistol. And so the moment he'd gotten a firm hold on the bag's handle, he'd used it to bash Walter upside his bald head. Another moment of searching the prone man had uncovered the pistol in Walter's pocket.

"Leave it be. Leave me be. I'm out," he'd said to a groaning Walter as he pocketed his weapon. "We had a good thing going and you fucked it up. So go deal with it yourself, you arrogant prick." He'd given the tires of his car an extra spin as he'd left, spraying dust over Walter as the man tried to rise. Mike knew that it was petty, but he couldn't help himself. He'd also known that Walter would survive. The man had a snakelike ability to come out on top. And Walter had been on top, right up until the whole mess fell apart.

Mike himself had been on the run ever since that day by the creek. He had tried once to reach Saul Goodman, but the criminal (in more ways than one) lawyer had dropped off of the radar. Saul had probably been spirited away by that damn 'vacuum cleaner repairman' that he'd always been going on about

He took another swig of coffee.

"In lighter news," continued the coiffed idiot on the TV, "the Japanese pop band ANM48 has started its first tour of the United States. This band is notable for being the first band to be composed entirely of demihumans. Ever since the startling reveal seven months ago of the presence of demihumans, the band has acted as an unofficial ambassador to the human world. Their goal is to show everyone that demis are people too!"

"That's right, Clark," replied the blonde bimbo sitting next to the coiffed idiot. "The US Congress has also just passed its version of the Cultural Exchange Between Species Bill, which guarantees civil rights to all demihumans, also known as liminals. The bill also sets up trade and student exchange programs..."

Mike tuned the news back out again. All this weird crap about monster-people on the news had been going on for months. It made him wonder if he actually _had_ died next to that New Mexico creek. Maybe this was some kind of weird purgatory he was doomed to wander through for eternity, as punishment for his sins. Nevada's landscape would make a pretty good substitute for the underworld.

After all, what did he have to live for? There was no way he was getting any money to his granddaughter Kaylee. Every cent he'd earned for her was now sitting in DEA hands. He had just enough cash on hand to survive and keep moving for maybe a couple more years. He couldn't find work either, legitimate or not. His face was too well known as one of the 'Heisenberg gang'. He'd been moving around the Southwestern US, trying and succeeding in keeping a low profile. His only hope now was that the heat on him would ease off now that White was dead. And then maybe he could work out something to earn another nest egg for Kaylee.

"Man, can you believe that shit?" asked the man sitting next to him. The guy had large callused hands and a serious beer belly that stretched against his stained tee shirt. He wore a cap that bore the logo of a nationwide trucking company.

The trucker jerked one stubby thumb up at the TV. The screen showed a bunch of women doing a choreographed dance routine as they sang some kind of bubblegum pop song into handheld microphones. Even on the small screen Mike could tell that they weren't entirely human. Most of them had big expressive eyes, many were covered in fur, and they all had odd triangular ears that stuck up off of their heads.

Mike gave a noncommittal grunt. He wanted to get the check and get moving, so he started looking around for any of the waitstaff.

"Seriously, can you believe it?" The trucker seemed determined to have a conversation.

Mike shrugged. "I guess I believe it."

The man shook his head. "You know it's all bullshit, right?"

"Seems real to me."

"Naw, I mean that whole line about how the monsters just want to be pals with us humans. They show that cutesy stuff like them singers up there and want us to go 'aww' and think they're all harmless. But it's crap."

Mike gave another noncommittal grunt and kept looking around. Where the hell _was_ everybody?

The trucker leaned in towards Mike. "I get around, unnerstand? I hear things. There's a shitload more monsters out there, and they ain't cute like them fuzzballs. There's shark people, spider people...hell, I heard tell there's a gang of rattlesnake gals out in the desert near here. They kidnap a guy and take 'em back to their village. Then they force the guy to have sex with all of 'em. Over and over again, so's they can make more snake gals."

"Reeeaallly," drawled Mike. He felt the familiar prickle in the back of his head that said _something is not right_. He still saw none of the staff, and hadn't for several minutes. Mike glanced up at the swinging door that led into the kitchen, and through the small glass window he caught a brief glimpse of several rifle barrels.

"Get down," he said to the trucker.

"What?"

"Take cover behind the counter-"

A bulky form burst through the kitchen door with a large machine gun in its hands. Mike briefly saw deep-set red eyes and a pair of huge tusks before following his own advice and hitting the floor.

He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to protect his hearing as the machine gun went off. He saw the glass windows of the diner blow out as the bullets scythed back and forth along the front wall. The clatter of the gun's mechanism was instantly recognizable from his Vietnam days; the gun was an M60. Whoever was shooting seemed to be aiming high. Mike saw everybody in the front booths ducking and screaming, but nobody got shot. The gun stopped firing, making everything seem eerily quiet except for the _ping_ of the last ejected casings hitting the floor.

Two more big humanoids came in the front door, each the size of an NFL linebacker. They had AK-47s at the ready. They were also quite clearly not human. Both had the same deep-set red eyes and tusks as Mr. M60 behind the counter, as well as greasy pale skin and wiry black hair. They were dressed identically in combat fatigues and black jackets.

Mike heard Mr. M60 speak, his voice deep and almost gargling. "Good morning, humans! You have been chosen to help make a political statement for the glorious Brotherhood for Anthropomorphic Rights and Freedom!"

There was a small silence, and then one of the diners in the front got a puzzled look on his face. "Wait, that spells B.A.R.F."

"SHUT UP! You, stand up! And the two guys hiding behind the counter, you stand up too."

Mike saw the trucker look at him, as if waiting for instructions. He rolled his eyes and nodded to the other man. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet, standing up along with the trucker and the first man who'd spoken. The latter looked to be some kind of traveling salesman in a cheap blue suit, and had short brown hair and frightened eyes.

There was general commotion and shouting as still another of the boar-men pushed all of the remaining customers into the front and made them sit on the floor. Mike flicked his eyes around. Three in front, plus Mr. M60 behind him. There had to be at least one...no, two more in the back to watch the rear. The rear guard probably had the waitstaff held back there as more hostages. And all he had was one snub-nose revolver in his pocket. Six shots to take six guys...and these weren't normal guys. He had no idea if they would even notice a bullet or two. From their builds he guessed they were stronger than humans and probably tougher.

"You, old-timer. Turn around, let me get a look at you."

Mike complied, giving Mr. M60 his very best dead-eyed non-expression. The boar-man leaned forward and gave Mike a good blast of halitosis as his little red piggy eyes stared at the human.

"Hmm. Yeah, you're tall enough." Mr. M60 stabbed a finger at the trucker. "You too. And you, Mr. Talky. All 'a you, sit down on top of the counter so you're facing the windows."

Mike complied as the boar-men walked among the other hostages. A few men and one tall woman were pulled out of the crowd and also made to sit at the counter. There was now a line of humans sitting along the counter, forming a line between Mr. M60 and and the blown-out windows.

Mr. M60 had more instructions. "The rest of you, sit in the booths in front. On the tables if you have to. I want you all visible."

The trucker leaned over a fraction. "What are they doing?" he whispered.

Mike didn't answer.

"C'mon, what's up? You seem to know stuff."

He figured he needed to shut the trucker up before the fool got his own head blown off.

"We're a human shield," Mike muttered back. He had to admit it was a pretty good set-up. Everyone was sitting either on top of or in front of the counter, and thus Mr. M60 at Mike's back could spray the entire group of hostages in a few seconds if anybody tried a dynamic entry. And if the boar-man kept crouched behind the line of people sitting on the counter, it would be a lot harder for snipers to pick him off. The terrorists in the kitchen would keep anybody from sneaking up behind.

The trucker still wasn't satisfied. "A shield against what?"

"Snipers."

The other man eyes bugged out as he looked out the front windows. "There's snipers out there?"

"There will be."

* * *

Mike's ass was slowly growing numb from the hard formica of the counter-top. The trucker had his head down and was staring at the floor. He'd kept peppering Mike with questions that Mike had not answered until, finally, Mr. M60 had smacked the trucker in the head and told him to shut up.

Mike flicked his eyes again over the hostages in front of the windows. Fifteen people, among which was a family of two women and three girls. The youngest of the daughters looked a lot like Kaylee, which didn't help Mike's calm.

Outside in the midday sun was a line of flashing police lights and general confusion. One of the boar-men had used a megaphone to issue their demands - some kind of crap about wanting a separate nation, some cash, a jet out of here, blah blah blah. He hoped that the negotiators were good at stalling while the cops came up with something.

Mike was pretty sure that he was cooked. Even if he walked out of here alive, the odds were slim that he could just slip away. He'd give it a good try, of course, but with the number of cops and feds and media outside he figured it would be pretty much impossible. And any questioning afterward would very quickly reveal his real identity.

He breathed out a soft sigh. No, this was it. Mike figured he'd had a good run. The only thing he could do right now was try and make sure no civilians got killed.

One of the older daughters was squirming on her seat. Finally she piped up. "Mommy, I have to pee."

"Shut up!" yelled one of the boar-men. This was a guy with a black handkerchief tied around his head in a sort of do-rag.

One of the girl's mothers glared at Mr. Handkerchief. "Really? Can't you let a little girl go to the bathroom?"

"Nobody moves from this spot," said one of the other boar-men in a flat tone. This one had a gold earring in one ear. He probably thought it made him look like a pirate or something.

The other mother stood up. "No, please. I know the law. Liminals can't harm us and vice versa, not without getting deported. If you want to escort us, that's fine. But I'm taking my daughter to the bathroom."

Mr. Earring looked at the third boar-man in the front who had a big scar over one eye. Mr. Earring was clearly looking for guidance from the scarred terrorist. Mr. Scar shook his head. Then Mr. Earring shrugged and turned back to the woman, backhanding her hard in the face as he did so. The woman was sent sideways onto the tabletop with the force of the blow. As her daughters and other customers began screaming, Mr. Handkerchief let loose a single shot of his AK-47 into the ceiling. The sudden noise shut everybody up. Mike flexed his feet and made mentally ready to move if he needed to.

"We are already criminals," said Mr. Scar. His voice was surprisingly mellow-sounding. "Just in case you didn't notice. We will not hesitate to kill you all. But I am generous. She can go to the bathroom, but I need to be in there with her." Mike saw the boar-man leer at the family. "After all, we need to make sure nothing _bad_ happens to her in there."

Mr. Scar gestured at the other mother. The woman stood with a white, drawn face. She gripped her daughter's hand tightly, then cast a fearful glance at her prone and groaning spouse. She then led her daughter off with Mr. Scar following close behind. The bastard had a wicked smirk on his face.

Mike saw that the slapped woman had a little blood coming out of her mouth as she sat back up. Hopefully all she had was a few loose teeth. He looked back up out of the windows. The buildings on the far side of the street looked deserted; they'd probably been cleared out by the cops. He tried to not think about what might be going on in the bathroom behind him and busied himself with figuring out where the snipers were. Let's see, if it was him he'd want to be somewhere where the sun couldn't flash off of his optics...there was an air conditioning unit that looked like promising cover. But after a few minutes of close observation he couldn't see anything. Maybe they didn't have anybody up there yet.

There was nothing past the buildings...well, nothing but a water tower that was well over a mile and a half away. Even in his younger days Mike wouldn't want to try a precision shot from that distance. And yet, as his eyes flicked over the water tower, he saw something move.

Mike squinted. He was getting old, but he still had a sniper's eyesight. A little black flash of clothing was all he'd seen, but he'd definitely seen it. The FBI wouldn't be stupid enough to have somebody make a shot from _that_ far away, would they? Unless it was the ghost of Carlos Hancock himself doing the shooting.

The woman and daughter came back from the bathroom, escorted by Mr. Scar. The bastard's smirk was now a full-fledged smile. There was also another girl in front of Mr. Scar, an older teenager with teary blue eyes and a blond ponytail. The boar-man had one clawed hand on her shoulder.

"Look at what I found back there!" said Mr. Scar triumphantly. "This little darling was all scared and cowering in the toilet. Let's all make sure she feels welcome."

The mother and daughter sat back down. The two spouses looked at each other. "Nothing happened, not really," muttered the first mother in reply to the unspoken question. "He just...watched."

"You see?" said Mr. Scar. "We're not so bad. Maybe we'll all get to be real pals. Especially with this little blond thing." He squeezed the new girl's shoulder. "Looks like she's traveling all alone. Are you a runaway?"

The blonde girl shot him a fearful look and didn't reply. Mr. Handkerchief decided to get in on the leering. "Don't worry, baby," he said, "We'll make you feel right at home."

She looked down at the diner's linoleum floor and still said nothing.

Mr. Earring laughed. "I like a girl who can keep her mouth shut! Except when it needs to be open, of course." He had a little bit of drool coming out of one side of his mouth. "Sit right there, darling. I'll make sure to watch over you."

The new girl shuffled over and sat in the chair that Mr. Earring had pointed to. She was dressed in jeans and a brown leather jacket that had clearly seen many miles of travel. Her eyes darted around with the same fearful expression as the others.

All of the boar-men were looking at the new girl with undisguised bad intentions. Mr. M60 behind the counter even gave a little lustful chuckle. Mike felt his jaw tighten. He slowly clenched and un-clenched his fists to keep the blood flowing to his fingers. If these idiots tried something with her, well then he was going to have to try something as well. Even though it would get him killed. Hell, he was as good as dead anyway once he was in jail.

But then once more he felt that little tingle that told him to pay attention. He looked more closely at the blond newcomer. Her eyes were not darting around randomly and fearfully as he had first thought. She was noting positions, both of the boar-men and of the hostages. The girl kept coughing and bringing up her hand to her mouth as if she had a dry throat. But Mike could just make out her jaw moving every time she brought her hand up. She was being discreet about it, but he was pretty sure that she was relaying information to the authorities outside.

Mike's face remained placid as he felt the most amazing surge of anger well up in him. If he lived through this, he was going to find the jackass in charge of the rescue effort and beat the aforementioned jackass to death with a steel pipe. They had the fucking nerve to send a _child_ in here to get intel?

The blonde girl noticed him looking at her. She held his gaze for a moment. There was a brief shouting commotion across the road, and all of the boar-men looked outside as Mike and the blond girl kept staring at each other.

For just one moment, her eyes changed.

Mike caught a glimpse of eyes that were black and gold and utterly inhuman...and then she blinked and they were back to the watery blue they'd been before. She gave him a wink.

He shifted his attention back out front and kept his face impassive while a little lump of ice settled in his guts. There had been some kind of argument between a news crew and the police that was now resolved, and the boar-men relaxed. Mike looked back at the girl...or whatever the hell she was.

She made the barest gesture of her head towards the kitchen with an unspoken question on her face. _How many back there?_

Mike thought a bit on it. He was sure he'd seen three gun barrels, one of which had belonged to Mr. M60 sitting right behind him. He tapped two fingers on his thigh, and she gave the barest nod. Then she brought up her hand and coughed again as she relayed the information.

He heard Mr. M60 sniff the air. "Somebody's close by." There was a click of a walkie-talkie. "Rear team, watch it. You smell 'em?"

"Yeah," came the response. "Hang on..." There was a couple of brief bursts of gunfire that made all of the diner customers jump except for Mike. Then the walkie-talkie buzzed again. "We found 'er," said the voice again. "Tryin' to sneak in through a back window. She's dead."

"They sent just the one?" asked Mr. Scar rhetorically. "Pathetic." He then pulled out his loudspeaker and yelled out the shattered front windows. "That's one dead cop! You want more dead, just try that shit again! We will kill everybody in here if we so much as smell another pig!"

Mike was a little puzzled. Something wasn't right. Why would they send just one person if they were going to launch an attack from the back? It should have been a whole squad with flash-bangs and all the trimmings. This had to be some weird strategy he couldn't figure out. Seeing that 'girl's' eyes change told him that this was not a normal hostage rescue. But whatever was going down, it was clearly going to kick off soon. And then he would be dead, one way or the other. He wondered, somewhat distantly, if Kaylee would ever remember her Pop-pop fondly.

The blonde girl caught his eyes again. She nodded at him, then made a little fractional movement of her body forward. One of her hands was in her lap, and it held up three fingers. He didn't quite get it at first, then realized what she wanted. She wanted him to fall forward at the count of three, exposing Mr. M60 to the sniper on the water tower. Mike sighed internally. Whoever the shooter was, he hoped they were good. He gave her the barest nod.

Mr. Earring must have seen some bit of her movement. "Hey, stop twitching!"

Mike decided he should get their attention off of her. "So, that's an M60 you got back there," he said aloud. "Have you guys been watching Rambo II on a loop or something?"

"Shut up," growled Mr. Handkerchief, but Mr. Earring waved off his partner and stood next to Mike. He felt the boar-man's hot breath on his ear, but didn't turn to look at him.

"You think you're a tough guy, monkey-boy?" asked Mr. Earring. "I could pull you apart with my bare hands and not even break a sweat. You believe me?"

"I believe you," replied Mike. "I also believe the M60 is too heavy and unreliable. It's an old design, after all. Maybe you guys would like to get hooked up with something more modern. Maybe I could hook you up."

Mr. Earring gave a bark of laughter as Mike felt drops of spittle hit his cheek. "You willing to sell some guns to us, tough guy? Heh. Miserable humans. So high and mighty, but so quick to sell out your own."

In his peripheral vision, Mike saw the blonde girl put her hand on a nearby table. She had three fingers sticking out.

Then two.

Then one...

He rolled forward off of the counter. "Hey!" yelled Mr. Earring, just as there was also a loud wet _SPLUT_ that heralded the disappearance of Mr. M60's head.

Mike hit the tiled floor and felt a flare of pain in his right shoulder, then rolled onto his back as he felt Mr. Earring make a grab for him. Unfortunately for Mr. Earring, that movement brought him right into the same line of fire where Mr. M60's head had been.

 _SPLUT._

Mike felt a moment of real wonder. That was two precision shots in a matter of seconds, from over a mile and a half away. Whoever was shooting was not just good, they were _unbelievable_.

Mr. Scar and Mr. Handkerchief brought their guns up, clearly ready to start shooting randomly. The blonde girl threw up her arms in a surrendering posture.

"Please!" she wailed. "Don't kill me! I'll do anything you want!"

Mr. Scar growled with both anger and lust as he yanked her to her feet and spun her around. He held her to his barrel-like chest with one arm as with the other he pointed his AK randomly around. "No more shooting, or everyone gets it!" he yelled out the front windows.

Mike slipped his hand into his pocket and gripped the handle of his snub-nose revolver. The blonde girl caught his eyes again and smiled like a shark. There was a rattle of gunfire off in the kitchen. Just as Mr. Handkerchief and Mr. Scar looked in that direction she kicked with power and precision right up over her head, her legs forming a perfect straight line as her booted heel slammed up into Mr. Scar's jaw. The boar-man fell back, and as Mr. Handkerchief turned to see what had happened Mike got his pistol free of his pocket.

It was as good of an opportunity as he was going to get. From his position on the floor there was nothing behind Mr. Handkerchief's head but the ceiling. Mike hoped distantly that there was nobody on the roof as he fired his revolver up into the boar-man's head.

The first shot hit Mr. Handkerchief high in the head, creasing his skull. The boar-man snarled and stomped forward as he raised his rifle. He got another bullet in the throat, then four more in rapid succession. As Mike had suspected, one bullet wasn't enough to take down a boar-man. Nor two.

But six? Six was plenty.

Handkerchief's body slumped to its knees on the tile floor in front of Mike, then toppled forward with a wet thud. Unfortunately, that also meant that Mike now three hundred pounds of dead weight partially covering him along with a good bit of the boar-man's blood.

The gunfire from the kitchen tapered off. As Mike tried to shove Handkerchief's corpse off of him, the far wall of the diner cracked and bowed inward. Bits of drywall sprayed everywhere as a huge form burst through. The intruder was easily eight feet tall and clad head-to-toe in metal armor. The giant's face was invisible behind a tinted visor.

"This way, everybody!" yelled the armored figure. Mike's hearing was still ringing a bit from his shooting, but that voice sounded a lot higher than he expected. Almost...feminine? The hostages began a general stampede for the newly-created exit as the giant stepped to one side of the hole.

Mike shifted his attention back to the corpse on top of him and continued to push up and try to get it off. Then a huge gauntleted hand gripped the back of Handkerchief's neck and lifted the body off of Mike. The armored giant held the big slab of dead meat like it weighed nothing and tossed it casually to one side. "Are you okay, sir?" asked the giant. Yes, that was definitely a woman's voice.

Mike felt a small hand go under his armpit and help him up. Unfortunately, that was his injured shoulder. He groaned a bit in pain, then looked over to see the blonde girl. She still had that mirthless grin on her face. Scar was still sprawled out on top of a nearby table and moaning from receiving that kick to the jaw.

"Kitchen," Mike rasped, and made a move towards the back. Her small hand grabbed his arm again, this time with surprising strength.

"Leave it," she said. "Zombina's got that well in hand." Mike glanced around. The three of them, plus the groaning form of Scar, were now the only ones left in the front of the diner.

The door to the kitchen swung open as a redheaded figure came bursting through. The newcomer wore black body armor with a yellow vest. The skin-tight nature of the body armor left no doubt that this person was female as well. She held a submachine gun in each hand and a gleeful, sharp-toothed expression on her pixie face. There were several large bullet holes through one side of the redhead's torso that slowly leaked red. She vaulted smoothly over the counter and pointed both of her guns at Scar, who was just groaning and trying to rise up off of the table.

"FREEZE!" yelled the redhead. "But I'd prefer if you don't. I only got to shoot two dudes today, and that ain't enough." She glanced over at Mr. Handkerchief's almost headless form. "Damn, Doppel. You do that?"

"Nope," replied the blonde girl. "That was this guy here." She patted Mike on his injured shoulder.

He gave a little grunt of pain. "Young lady, would you please not do that? It's kind of painful."

"Oh, sorry," She gave him a little apologetic smile.

"That's nice shooting, dude," said the redhead. Mike looked again at her very definitely perforated gut while his brain flatly refused to admit what he was seeing. He'd once been shot in the gut during Fring's attack on the Cartel headquarters, and he sure as shit wasn't running around afterwards.

"Thanks," replied Mike. "You're Zombina?"

"Yep!" The injured woman seemed mighty chipper in spite of her hideous injury.

"Zombina...you should maybe lie down and wait for the medics."

"Don't need to. I'm _dead_ , after all." She gave Mike a wink, and he now realized her eyes were different colors; one green, and one yellow. She also had a line of fine stitching running across her cheeks and snub nose. The skin above that stitching was darker than the skin below, giving her the appearance of a ragdoll.

The armored giant reached up and unlatched its helmet, then pulled it off. And sure enough, she was a woman. She had blonde hair, brown skin, and a round face that looked cute in spite of its size. She also had odd triangular ears that stuck out on each side of her head as well as a short black horn that rose up out of her forehead. Her big red eyes looked sadly around the diner. "They caused so much pain here. At least none of the hostages got hurt."

Scar began to sit up, only for the horned giant to grab him by the neck and lift him up into the air. She shook him like he was a misbehaving cat. "Look at this mess! You have been very naughty and making a bad name for demis everywhere. Shame on you!"

Scar held up his hands. "I surrender..." he whispered.

The horned girl gave a _hmph_ and set him down on his feet in front of them.

"Aw, come on Tio," said Zombina. "Can't we just shoot him?"

"No Zombina," said the horned giant primly. "He is now our prisoner and unarmed-"

Scar whipped out a .45 automatic with blinding speed and pointed it at Mike's head. "Nobody move or this geezer gets it-"

Mike slapped the gun out of the line of fire with his hand, then stripped the pistol out of Scar's hand. He ejected the round in the chamber and then slammed the butt of the handle as hard as he could into Scar's throat, all in the space of a second.

Zombina gave a snaggle-toothed grin as Scar croaked in astonishment. "Whoops," she said, "It looks like he's resisting arrest." As she raised one of her guns, Tio slammed one huge armored fist onto Scar's head. The boar-man went down into the floor like he'd been hit with a pile-driver.

The 'dead' woman pouted. "Tionishia! I was gonna shoot him!"

"And then Smith-san would have gotten in trouble. It is our duty to save her from paperwork, Zombi-san."

Zombina sighed. "Oh, fine. No more funtime, I guess. Back to boring training." She cocked one eyebrow at Mike. "Nice moves, by the way."

Mike gave a shrug in reply. He heard the shouting of police outside and quickly thought through his options. These three women seemed to be some sort of non-human strike squad, and hopefully they were well out of the loop regarding wanted criminals. At least they didn't seem to recognize him. Plus the big one would make a handy shield from curious eyes.

He decided to play up the 'shellshocked civilian' role, and leaned over as if suddenly faint. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just...it's hitting me really hard, you know? I could have died in here."

The giant woman got a very concerned look on her face. "Oh, it's okay, we wouldn't have allowed that!"

"I know," replied Mike. "It's just...would you mind terribly escorting me out to the medics? It would help to have friendly faces around."

"Sure!" Zombina said cheerfully, and slipped her arm through his. "What's your name, anyway?"

"It's Max. Max Erskine." He'd gotten a fake driver's license in that name, although he knew his identity wouldn't hold up very well if the authorities became suspicious.

Mike dropped Scar's pistol and let himself be led out. If the other three noticed, they said nothing. He had also managed to discreetly drop his own revolver back over by Handkerchief's body. As they approached the gaping hole, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

Doppel's clothes were _flowing_. Her brown jacket and blue jeans rippled like water and separated out into separate filaments, then further out into long white hair. The girl's skin darkened, turning an almost bronze color. She smiled at Mike, and her eyes were now the eerie black-under-gold color he'd briefly seen before.

He also realized with a start that she was completely naked. Mike jerked his eyes back forward. Doppel's long white hair flowed around her in such a way as to block sight of the important bits, but that somehow made her look _more_ nude.

"Honestly, Dee-san," said Zombina. "I swear you do that just to get a rise out of the humans."

"Maybe I do," replied Doppel, and gently nudged Mike in the ribs with one petite elbow. Mike assiduously kept his eyes looking everywhere except at her. They all exited the hole through the diner's wall and the mid-afternoon sun beat down on Mike's bare head. Somewhere in the excitement he'd lost his hat. There was a huge throng of police bearing down on them. He moved behind Tio, hoping to use her size to help shield him from the view of anybody who might recognize him.

The cops came bustling around them, jabbering excitedly. Mike hunched his shoulders and looked at the ground. "Hey," yelled one of the cops, "you did awesome!" He patted Mike on the shoulder and the fugitive decided to play up his injury. He groaned and leaned into Zombina.

"Enough!" said Tio, and threw her arms wide. "Make way! He's injured, and we need to get him to the medics."

The crowd obligingly parted and they walked through, with Mike keeping his head down. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Don't sweat it, Max," said Zombina. "Of course, I don't sweat at all."

There was an entire row of ambulances set up outside the cordoned area. Mike saw most of the hostages were still being looked over, although most seemed to have gotten away with nothing more than a few scrapes at most. Tio led them over to one of the un-used ambulances which had a chipper-looking young EMT standing outside in a starched white shirt. The guy looked like he wasn't even old enough to drive, let alone do medicine. His eyes bugged as he saw Doppel strolling up in her almost-birthday-suit, then he turned his attention to the rest of them.

"Hey!" said the EMT. His voice was just as chipper as his face. "You guys did great! Were there any injuries..." He trailed off as he saw Zombina's perforated torso. "Holy shit."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, I know. But I'm fine. He's got a bum shoulder, though." Tio stepped to one side and let the EMT approach Mike. "Don't mind the blood on his shirt," added Zombina. "It's not his."

Mike slumped a bit, hoping it looked convincing. "I may have hit my head as well. And it's really hot out here. You mind if we do the checkup in the back of the ambulance there?"

"Sure! My partner's a bit busy, he'll be by to help out in a bit. Um, miss, are you _sure_ that you're all right?"

"Positive. We'll be right over here, Max."

Tio smiled warmly at him, and the three demis strolled a little ways away. There was a gaggle of cops that pressed in around them, asking excited questions. Most of them were trying very hard to ogle Doppel while also trying very hard to make it look like they weren't.

The EMT helped Mike up into the ambulance. Mike could see forward into the driver's seat, and saw that the keys were in the ignition. Of course they were, in case they had to make a dash for the hospital.

This was as good an opportunity as he was going to get. "I'm really sorry about this," he said to the EMT.

"Sorry about what?" asked the young man, then he _whoofed_ as Mike's elbow drove into his gut. Mike spun and shoved the EMT out the back door and into the dirt, and then ran for the driver's seat.

Within seconds he had the engine started and he was pulling away. In the rear view mirror he saw the EMT flop around then get to his feet, yelling something. In the distance, the three demihumans turned and looked curiously at the departing ambulance. He could swear that he saw Tio shake her head in exasperation.

Mike shifted his attention back to the front and drove. There were a few cop cars in between him and the open road, but they hadn't been set up to stop a vehicle and he managed to weave his way through them. There was shouting and general commotion as he did so, all of which he ignored. As he made it to the main road, he could see several police cars behind him start to pull out.

He stomped on the accelerator and sped away as he thought. It was clear he had to ditch the ambulance and do it fast. It was too big and too conspicuous. If he tried driving straight for the highway, they'd radio ahead and have helicopters and spike strips and a goddamn brass band waiting for him at the next exit. Mike desperately tried to recall what he had seen of the town when he had driven in. He needed a good straight section of road with some handy side streets.

Plus he needed something to wedge onto the accelerator. There was some kind of medical kit in a big metal container on the passenger seat. That should do.

He weaved around a corner, hearing sirens in the distance behind him. This road looked as straight as he could hope for, and there was a big warehouse close to the road that should give him cover. Mike slowed to a stop beside the warehouse and opened the driver's door. He whipped off his belt and tied the steering wheel so that the vehicle would go more or less straight. He stepped on the gas to get the ambulance rolling, then jammed the metal kit down onto the accelerator as he jumped out of the moving vehicle.

Mike hit and rolled, feeling a larger flare of pain in his other shoulder this time. He was glad to see the ambulance speed up again. The impetus swung the door shut as the vehicle raced away, although now it was weaving a little drunkenly. He ran grimly for the warehouse. Twenty years ago his joints wouldn't have been complaining so much. The police came roaring around the corner just as he made the cover of the warehouse. The ambulance was a thousand yards distant and going faster.

Mike hugged the wall and watched as the ambulance finally went off the road and rolled into a ditch. The police cars blew past him with sirens blaring as they raced for the crash. He slipped back along the wall and found a side door into the warehouse.

His luck was holding, since the place looked deserted. The afternoon sun streamed through some windows high up on the walls, revealing a couple of oblong shapes under tarps in the far corner of the cavernous space. Mike slumped to the ground and got his breath under control while he took inventory of his body. His right shoulder throbbed a bit, but not too bad. His left side felt like he'd gotten a good kick from a mule. Overall, nothing major.

After a few minutes, he figured it was time to move. Mike got to his feet and approached one of the shrouded shapes. He lifted one end of a tarp and saw that, sure enough, they were cars. Mike stripped the cover off of one of them and saw that it was a blocky-looking Cadillac from the mid-80s. Just the kind of boring and nondescript car he was looking for. He only hoped it had gas in it.

As Mike reached for the door handle, there was a metallic _whack_ that sounded a bit like a brush handle hitting a steel barrel. A hole appeared in the car door mere inches from his hand. Mike froze. He swiveled his eyes without moving his head to look back at the door to the warehouse.

There was a short, slim form walking towards him. It was clad in the same black armor and yellow vest that Zombina had worn. As the newcomer approached, Mike could see that, of course, it was a 'she'. She had short dark hair in something resembling a bowl cut. She had a rifle almost as tall as her slung over one shoulder, and in her hands she held a silenced carbine. She wore tinted and wraparound shooting glasses that covered her upper face.

Mike slowly stood back up and held his hands out to his sides. The little sniper stopped about thirty feet away.

"Are you going to be a big silly and try something?" she asked in a soft high voice.

"No."

She nodded, and touched her ear. "Found him. Warehouse near the crash site." Then she dropped her hand back down to her weapon and kept it trained on him.

There was a long silence.

"That was you on the water tower?" asked Mike.

She nodded.

"That was _damn_ good shooting."

The sniper gave a little smile. "Thanks."

After another long silence, Mike saw Zombina slip in the door. She shook her head with an amused air as she moved towards them. "Whoo-ee, you are a handful, Max. I'll give ya that. Or should I call ya Mike?"

He ignored that last part. "How's the EMT?" he asked.

"He's got a bruise on his ass, that's all." Zombina stopped next to the sniper and reached into a pouch on her belt. Then she threw a pair of handcuffs onto the floor at Mike's feet. Mike looked at them, then up at her. Zombina made a _go ahead_ gesture with her hand. He looked over at the rock-steady muzzle of the carbine pointed at him and sighed.

He slowly reached down and picked up the cuffs. "I'm surprised the local cops didn't want to make the collar themselves," he said as he cuffed himself. Then he folded his hands in front of him and waited.

Zombina shook her head as she walked forward. "You've got the wrong idea. We're not with them. Or with the FBI." She pulled something made of cloth out of another pouch and shook it out, revealing a black hood. "Now, I'm going to put this on your head and then we're leading you out of here. If you get frisky, I'll have to throw you a beatin'. So behave yourself, okay?"

Mike pursed his lips and nodded. Zombina gave him a sharky grin as she pulled the sack over his face.

"There's a rear entrance back there," said the sniper's voice.

"Great! Lead the way, Manoko-san." Mike felt Zombina grip his arm and he allowed himself to be led away.

There was a confusing period of walking, stopping, then walking again once the coast was clear. Eventually Zombina said "There's a step up." He felt forward with one foot and found a metal step in front of him. Mike felt another, much larger hand take his shoulder and gently steer him onto a bench seat of some sort. It sounded like he was inside a large moving van.

"It's good to see you're not too badly hurt, Mike," said Tio's voice. He felt the giant woman settle onto the bench next to him as he heard the rattle of the van's rear door sliding shut.

"We're all in, Smith-san!" said Zombina's voice. Mike heard a grunt from the front and the van started to move.

They rode in silence for a bit. The jostling of their driving made Mike very aware of Tio's body next to him. It didn't feel like she was wearing armor anymore.

He began to try to figure out just what the hell was going on. The van suddenly halted and he heard the passenger door open. Somebody else climbed in.

"No prob!" said Doppel's voice. "I got myself spotted while wearing Mike's face and led them off the other way. They think he's heading towards the highway."

"Good," said the driver's voice, lower but also distinctly feminine. Mike was wondering just how many women there were in this crazy outfit. "Tionishia, I'm sure our guest is tired. He should take a nap."

Mike tensed himself and waited for the blow on the head that was surely coming. Instead, he felt Tio's big hands grip his shoulders and gently tilt him over. He felt a warm softness on one side of his face as she gently stroked his head through the hood. He realized his head was in her lap.

"You really should sleep, Mike," said Tio.

This was ridiculous. Here he was, mere minutes after a major firefight and chase, with adrenaline still coursing through his system. And now he'd been arrested by some kind of weird paramilitary group. They expected him to sleep?

Although, now that he thought about it, he did feel really peaceful. Strangely so, since he was going to be in jail for the rest of his life. At least now he could stop running, he supposed. That was somehow a soothing thought...

And so Mike Ehrmantraut did the last thing he ever expected. He fell asleep.

* * *

He was lying on a cot when he woke up. Somebody had covered him with a wool blanket. He was no longer handcuffed or hooded. It was very quiet; he could hear a little faint scratching sound off to his left. Mike took a moment to look around before moving.

This was a bare room with no windows. There was a flickering fluorescent light overhead and a long table to his left that bisected the room. On the other side of the table sat a woman in a dark suit with a white blouse. She had long flowing black hair, much longer than Mike would have expected to see on somebody in law enforcement. The woman had on small square sunglasses and wore a sour expression on her face.

Off to one side of her was a tall stack of papers, and on the other side was a much shorter stack. The scratching noise he'd heard was her writing on a form of some sort in front of her. She finished her scribbling and added the form to the shorter stack, then glared at the taller stack with undisguised hate.

Mike slowly sat up. The woman looked up at him. "Ah!" She sounded genuinely glad to see him awake. "Good evening, Mr. Ehrmantraut." She unceremoniously shoved the taller stack of papers off of the table and onto the floor, then motioned towards a chair on his side of the table. "Have a seat. Or you can sit on the cot if you like. You've had a busy day."

Mike stood and looked more around the room. The only exit out of here was behind the woman. And if even if he could get past her, there were the monsters to deal with, and this time he was unarmed. Tio alone could probably snap him in two with her pinky finger. He looked down and realized that somebody had removed his shoes and socks while he'd slept, replacing them with a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. Mike grunted, pulled out the chair and sat. He laced his fingers together on the tabletop and stared at her.

If she was thrown by his dead-eyed expression, she didn't show it. "Of course, we knew your real identity even before we went into the diner. Manoko's rifle has a video feed built into its optics, and we have some very good face recognition software. Our team knew who you were well before anybody in the local police or the FBI."

Mike stared and said nothing.

She smiled and plowed on. "My name is Kuroko Smith. I'm a...well, my job is complicated. Officially, I'm a demihuman cultural exchange coordinator for the nation of Japan. Our country has the largest concentration of demis, so we've taken the lead in setting up programs that allow humans and liminals to interact and become comfortable with one another. Of course, this has led to some friction between species and that is the reason for my other, unofficial job. I lead MON, the Monster Ops Neutralization squad. It's a strike and rescue team made up entirely of demis, and thus is able to legally take action when other demis commit crimes."

Mike stared and still said nothing.

"We've been over here for a few weeks, to advise and train agents in your federal government on how to set up similar strike teams for the United States. Demihumans have abilities which can make them useful in many situations, as you have just discovered."

Mike probed his tongue into one corner of his mouth. He really should start flossing one of these days.

"It just so happened we were close enough to respond to the situation at the diner. Your FBI asked us to take charge of the response due to the nature of the perpetrators. Our intervention was also intended as a demonstration to local law enforcement of the advantages of hiring demihumans."

Mike switched his tongue to the other side of his mouth. At least his jump from the ambulance hadn't loosened any teeth.

"Right after MON made a positive ID on you, we received a request from the highest levels of your government. There is a situation which has arisen. It requires both the expertise of MON as well as your,...shall we say... _unique_ skill set."

Mike unlaced his fingers and lay his palms flat on the tabletop.

"We have an offer for you, Mr. Ehrmantraut. Are you interested?"

He gave her another long stare and then finally spoke.

"Lawyer."


End file.
